Murder in the Skankiverse
by Jungle Kitty
Summary: A sequel to "Scandal in the Skankiverse." Somehow the Skankiverse has morphed into the Trashiverse.


#  Murder in the Skankiverse

(c) 1999 Jungle Kitty 

Star Trek and its characters are the property of Paramount. This not-for-profit piece of fan fiction is not intended to infringe on that ownership. The author's copyright applies only to the creative content and her original characters.

Comments, praise, questions, and criticism are more than welcome.

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NOTE: This story is the sequel to _ ["Scandal in the Skankiverse][2]._ " None of this story is based on my personal experience. That's what friends and neighbors are for. eg

* * * * * * * * * *

The courtroom was too hot. At mid-morning, Kirk's shirt was already sticking to his back. He looked across the crowded room and saw his mother-in-law glaring at him. He tried once again to discern some resemblance to Shanna. But studying that scowling mountain of wrinkled flesh always gave him a headache. Would Shanna have aged into something like that? He would never know.

He turned away and forced himself to concentrate on the district attorney's questions.

"So on the day of the twins' first birthday..."

The twins. The birthday party. It was hard to believe that it was nearly six months ago. It had been hot that day, too...

***

"Shanna!" he shouted as he carried the groceries into the trailer. "Shanna?"

Pushing aside the breakfast leavings--empty Diet Pepsi cans and Hostess Cupcake wrappers--he deposited the parcels on the counter and looked around. About to call her name again, he saw the lipstick scrawl on the refrigerator.

*Gone shopping.*

Sighing, he picked up the dishrag and began wiping at the words. What in the world could she be shopping for? The trailer was already bursting at the seams with clutter. The velvet painting of Elvis at the Gates of Heaven was still leaning against the playpen, the same place it had been when he'd been home on leave three months earlier. Damp towels still hung on the exercise bike. The Christmas lights still dangled from the windows.

The door banged open.

"Jim Kirk!" Shanna cried. "You won't believe what we got! C'mon, you two!" She jerked the two toddlers in the trailer. "Say hi to Daddy!" 

She released the children, who shrieked and ran to their father. He reached down and unhooked their training harnesses.

"Shanna, I've asked you not to put these on the kids--"

"Well, you try taking two toddlers to Wal-Mart without leashes on them. Last time, they made it all the way to the caves while I was trying on earrings."

"But--"

"Don't fuss at me, Jim Kirk. I want to show you what I bought. TA DAH! Mother-daughter outfits!" She pulled two silver bikinis out of a plastic bag. "They'll be perfect for the party!"

"Shanna, she can't wear that! And I've asked you not to put false eyelashes on her--"

He knelt down and reached gently toward the little girl's eyes.

"NO!" she cried and clawed at his hands.

"She likes them, Jim Kirk," Shanna said. "Did you get the cake?"

"Yes, I got the cake."

"Let's see it. Did they spell the names right?"

The names. The. Names. The appellations that were so hideous that he could barely bring himself to address his children in public. He remembered his horror when he arrived at the hospital and read the wrist tags on his three-day-old twins. 

"What kind of names are those?" he exploded.

Smiling proudly, Shanna said, "Isn't it wonderful? I remembered what you said. I named the boy just what you--"

"I asked you to name him Samuel Spock."

"That was too long, Jim Kirk. I shortened it."

"But--"

"It's already written down. That's his name."

"But, Shanna--"

"NO! I named him what you wanted. And I named the girl after the most important thing in the world to me."

"But--"

"THOSE ARE THEIR NAAAAAAAAMES!"

And so they were. Written on their birth certificates. Written in the registry in Stratus City. And written in putrid blue icing on their birthday cake.

> Happy Birthday, Spam and Aquanet

***

"And were things quite normal in the trailer?" the district attorney asked.

Normal. Yes, things were quite normal...

***

"SHANNA! What is this in the casserole dish?"

"It's for the party!" came a shrill voice from the bathroom.

"But what *is* it?"

"It's something new. I got the recipe out of Tri-Vee Guide. Beanie Wienie Fettucine."

Beanie Wienie--

"Spock can't eat that! He's vegetarian!"

"I made potato salad for him!"

"With bacon in it?"

"Of course."

"Shit," he muttered.

"Shit," echoed Spam.

"Spam, don't say shit."

"Shit."

"Spam--"

"Shit shit shit--" The little boy marched over to the Tri-vee and flopped down in front of it. His sister turned away from the Galactic Wrestling Finals and greeted him.

"Shit."

*Of course,* Kirk thought angrily as he tried to unjam the kitchen window. *They can say 'shit' and 'gimme' and 'no'--they can even say 'cheese doodle,' for god's sake--*

"OW!" 

The latch gave way, cutting a clean slice across his palm. He turned on the tap, and, after watching the water run brown for a minute, he held his hand under it. As the pain subsided, he looked up. At least the window was finally open, giving him a clear view of--

"Shanna, when is your brother going to get his shuttlecraft out of our yard?"

"He has to get it running first!"

"Well, I'm sick of seeing that rusted heap of metal--"

"Jim Kirk! Bring me some sugar!"

"What do you need sugar for?" He grabbed the least dirty towel he could find and wrapped it around his hand.

"I'm giving myself a facial!"

"There's no time for a facial--"

"There is always time for beauty," Droxine corrected him as she sailed into the trailer. 

"Droxine! Spock!" Kirk greeted his guests with false heartiness. "Let me clear some space on the sofa--"

"Pock! Pock!" Spam and AquaNet threw themselves on their godfather and hugged his legs. Kirk couldn't help noticing how careful Spock was not to acknowledge the jelly stains left by their little hands.

"Do you have some water for Precious?" Smiling sweetly, Droxine held up a tiny Lotsa Shitzu puppy in one hand. "Bottled?"

"I think there's some sparkling water."

"Oh, no, that gives her the hiccups. Doesn't it, Pwecious? Yes, Pwecious can't dwink nasty bubbles, can her?"

"How long have you had, er, Precious?" Kirk asked politely, stretching out his injured hand and quickly snatching it back as Precious snapped at him.

"My father gave her to me this morning. Isn't she just *precious*?"

"Yes, I can understand why you named her that," Kirk replied, examining the little toothmarks on his fingertip.

Droxine turned to Spock, cooing, "It *did* seem logical, didn't it, daaaarling?" She held the dog up to Spock's face. Precious gave a surprisingly vicious snarl, and Spock winced. "Don't snarl at Daddums, Precious." Turning back to Kirk, she explained, "It's short for Precious Moments." Straightening the dog's silver-blue cape, which perfectly matched her own, she babbled, "Because 'oo are a pwecious moment, aren't 'oo? Yes, you're Mommy's pwecious moment, the most pwecious moment ever, and Mommy wuvs 'oo--"

"Shanna!" Kirk bellowed. "Spock and Droxine are here!"

"SPOCK! DROXIE!" Shanna pranced into the living room, wrapped in a thread-bare towel. She flew straight to the kitchen and snatched the sugar bowl. "Come with me!" She grabbed Droxine by the hand. "Did you try that facial yet?"

"Yes, it was wonderful. I never would have thought to put sugar and Crisco on my face."

"An old Triskelion beauty secret. C'mon. We can talk while I'm getting ready." She turned to the men. "You two are baby-sitting tonight. We're going out."

"But you went out last night--"

"Don't argue with me, Jim Kirk. The only time I get to have any fun is when you're home on leave. And tonight's our bowling night. We're going to whip some Troglyte butt."

"But, Shanna--"

Seeing Kirk's dark expression, she pecked him on the cheek and whispered, "I'll be home early. And I'll stop at the Dairy Queen and pick up a chili bun for my Chili Buns." She chortled as she patted Kirk's behind.

Reddening with embarrassment, Kirk looked across the room to see that Spock had developed an inordinate interest in last month's calendar from Joe's Live Bait and Billiards.

"Shanna," Droxine said as the women headed into the bathroom. "I'm sorry about breaking that pool cue over your head last night--"

"Don't worry about it. Thank goodness for hairspray. I hardly even felt it."

The women left, and a long, uneasy silence ensued. It was finally broken by a noisy commercial for the Fukuoko--another word that the twins could pronounce easily. 

Kirk picked up the children and said, "Let's go outside."

***

"And what did you discuss while the women were inside?" the D.A. asked as she dabbed at her brow.

***

"Shanna is looking well."

"I suppose so."

"How long has she had the facial enhancements?"

"What?"

"On her forehead."

Kirk laughed bitterly. "Those aren't facial enhancements, Spock. They're marks from--from--oh god."

Suddenly it didn't seem very funny. He turned away in despair.

"Jim?"

"Beer cans, Spock. She's crushed so many beer cans against her forehead that she's beginning to look like a Klingon."

"I see."

Kirk looked across the yard where his children were pouring Tri-C on the dog.

"Spam! Aquanet! Don't do that to Ripper!" 

At the sound of his name, the three-legged dog got up, shook himself off, and hobbled away to a shady spot near the broken-down shuttlecraft.

"Spock, what am I going to do?"

"I was about to ask you the same question. Droxine is pregnant."

***

"And after lunch?" the D.A. asked as she leaned into the witness stand. "What happened then?"

***

Carefully balancing himself in the sturdiest of the wobbly lawn chairs, Spock said, "Thank you, Shanna, for the peanut butter and crackers. I hope it was not too inconvenient."

Shanna finished cleaning her teeth with a matchbook and replied, "Nothing to it, Spock. The kids eat them all the time. Guess they're Vulcaterians, too, huh?"

"Indeed."

"Droxine, have you thought about names for the baby?" Shanna asked.

Kirk looked up from his Beanie Wienie Fettucine and shot Spock a warning look. He had tried to explain to him how important it was to be very specific about names. Very specific and very firm. 

"I am thinking about it constantly," Droxine replied as she fed Precious the tiny pieces of filet mignon she'd brought with her. "I have decided that my child's name will pay homage to the finest traditions of beauty and art. And of course--" She laid her hand on Spock's arm. "--it will be rendered into Vulcan in honor of my husband's heritage."

"So what are you thinking?" Shanna pleaded. "How about this? T'Cher if it's a girl and--AQUANET! DON'T EAT THE DOG KIBBLE!--and S'inatra for a boy."

"Ah!" said Spock. "I am quite fond of the early music of Frank Sinatra."

"Not *Frank* Sinatra! *Nancy* Sinatra!" Laughing, Shanna turned to Droxine. "She's my favorite person in history. Next to Barbie."

Across the picnic table, Kirk watched Shanna reach into her Tri-Lycra unitard and push her breasts into place. 

*Please let that outfit be colorfast,* he prayed, remembering his shock the night before when she had undressed and revealed electric blue armpits.

With a heavy sigh, he gathered the dishes and carried them into the trailer.

"Bring me another Genessee, Jim Kirk!" Shanna shouted after him.

"Shanna," Droxine said, "I was quite impressed with the artistry you displayed last night. It was absolutely glorious."

"I was not aware that you were pursuing any artistic endeavors, Shanna," Spock said.

"I don't know how artistic it is, but...well, it *does* take a certain talent."

"Oh, show him, Shanna! Spock, it is truly wondrous. I would not have thought it possible."

"I'll try. It's kind of hard to do on cue."

***

"And then what happened, Commander Spock?" the D.A. asked.

Spock folded his hands and rested them on the witness stand, as he remembered the small cloud of dust that rose as Shanna lay down on the ground. He remembered seeing Jim step out of the trailer and his choked cry of "Shanna, don't!" as he dropped the pitcher of iced tea. He remembered--

"Commander? What happened?"

--the sudden bolt of blue flame, Spam and Aquanet shrieking with delight, Precious' frightened yelping, Droxine's earrings clanging as she bobbed her head and cried, "Brava! Magnificent!" He remembered--

"Commander, answer the question."

--the most revolting act he had ever witnessed.

"Shanna ignited a gaseous discharge."

"In other words, she lit a fart."

"Yes."

"And for that, you killed her."

"Yes."

"You admit it."

"Yes."

"Why, Commander? Why should such an act, albeit abhorrent, be deserving of death?"

Spock paused, remembering the shame and humiliation in Jim's eyes as he watched his wife rolling in the dirt of the scrubby front yard and laughing hysterically. He remembered the steel-wool of her hair in his hands as he dragged her to her feet. He remembered the fire coursing through his veins as he performed his first and only act of tal-shaya.

"Tell us, Commander. Without all the excessive verbiage that you Vulcans are so fond of, tell us. Why did you murder Shanna of Triskelion?"

Spock looked up and searched the gallery until his eyes met Kirk's. After gazing steadily at his captain for several long moments, Spock turned to the district attorney.

"She needed killing."

***

EPILOG

During the week following Spock's testimony, several significant events occurred on Ardana. 

Droxine, daughter of Plassus, the High Adviser of Stratus City, gave birth to twins, a girl and a boy, whom she named T'ori and S'pelling. Shortly after a visit from Captain James Kirk, she was found strangled in her own brassiere. 

Shanna's brother finally got his shuttlecraft running. It was stolen while he was teaching his niece and nephew how to make noises by squeezing his hand in his armpit.

Commander Spock was found guilty of unauthorized trash disposal and sentenced to sixty hours of community service. On his way to serve lunch at the Andrew Lloyd Webber Home for the Musically Impaired, he was seen stepping into a rusty shuttlecraft, which then blasted into warp, destination unknown.

Droxine's last painting--Shanna at the Gates of Heaven, rendered in acrylic on black velvet--fetched 1.5 million quatloos at auction.

[The End] 

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